Magic

Last year I decided to go ahead and take up a new hobby, something that wasn’t staring at a screen or drinking tea. I decided to learn the guitar. This is all well and good, a great skill to have and I would thoroughly recomend it to anyone. However, when you are looking to show yourself off to a pretty girl, its hard to play the guitar card, because you have to get them within earshot of the damn thing in the first place and lets face it, if they are at your house, you are probably getting laid anyway, so fuck the guitar. So I started looking for a skill that I could learn that could easily be carried around, or is at least a good talking point. What did I settle for this year? Well, one glorious word, MAGIC.

Let me tell you straight away. If you enjoy spending your free time, your evenings, nights and weekends, as well as any spare moment of the day, doing anything like napping, going out to eat or playing an excitingly violent video game, don’t learn magic. In fact, dont start to learn it at all. It becomes an obsession. Sure, you can learn a few card tricks off of youtube videos or from your uncle whilst you sit on his lap (totally platonically, of course) but let me tell you, they will be shit. To learn the good stuff, to really throw yourself into the thick of it, you need to buy books. Not just any books, but the RIGHT books. Here is where your money starts to go. It takes hours of study to learn a trick, then maybe weeks of practice to actually be able to perform it smoothly. Sleights, tricks and routines, they roll into each other in your mind as you studiously work through Mark Wilson or Bob Longe, until the obsession grows even more. It has gotten to the point when I have to force myself to go to sleep at night, only to sit bolt upright at 3am to re-read a chapter in the RRTCM about vanishing aces and tricky shuffles.

Dont learn magic folks, because you will never, ever want to learn anything else. I take a pack of cards to my uni lectures, to work and wherever else I go. Obsession is a bad thing….

Peculiar

Peculiar is a term that has definitively lost its vogue in recent years, much the same as queer, which actually means pretty much the same thing but has been usurped by bigots to describe those of a different orientation to the majority.

But no, there is no real call for all things peculiar anymore, and why is that? If something is at all unusual to my piers now it is “mental” or “crazy” or “mad”. Why have the cerebrally challenged amongst us become the height of what is strange that we compare even the most trivial of abnormalities in daily life to them? A wheelie bin being blown over by a strong breeze is no more mental or crazy than the wind itself, which seeing as it is flying around blowing shit over is quite certainly of sound mind for a gust of wind. Now if the wind had come barrelling down the street and set fire to the wheelie bin before turning a cat inside out, that would without doubt be a wind that one could call crazy.

This brings me back to peculiar. Just now I was watching some television and I noticed an extraordinarily long hair growing from my arm. Not being a hairy person in general, this in itself is merit for the term peculiar. But what really dropped it into that P-word catagory was the fact that, when removed with a sharp tug, it occurred to me that this remarkable growth was actually longer than any of the hair on my head. Not only this but it was singular. What little arm hair I have was dwarfed by this Goliath of Keratin-based body parts. I would most certainly deem that peculiar, in fact it was the first word that sprung to mind. But had I not been blessed with a vocabulary of more than fourteen words, would I still have deduced that this hair was “mental”? No, I would not. Even without the words to describe this as anything other than mental or crazy or psychotic or manic depressive, I would not have believed that this hair being abnormally long would have any bearing on its state of mind. After all, it has no mind, its a fucking hair.
So remember good people, both of you that will ever actually read this (and one of those is probably me) that there is a multitude of words to describe something out of the ordinary. It would be nice to hear something other than the same five descriptive words once in a while.

Why the fuck would I want two blogs?

Ok, first thing is first. I signed up for a blog here and guess what. The first thing they offer me is ANOTHER Blog. What the fuck am I going to do with a second one when I haven’t even begun writing the first? Pointless internet shit gets my goat, and often gets in the way of the decent services sites like this can provide.

A friend of mine, Mr. Pokeh, and I were discussing the idiocy of Facebook aps. Who really utilises that service? I mean really? For that matter, who the fuck actually generates this inane electronic bullshit for the sole purpose of spamming it into my “Notifications” section in the hopes I will answer some cretinous, poorly spelled quiz to find out what flavor of gravel I am or what brick laying technique is most suited to my star sign. Do people really not have anything better to do? Do people not get laid anymore?

Now I understand the irony of me asking that, whilst ranting about things on the internet in my newly spawned internet blog, which of course nobody will ever read because it is clearly full of the same narcassistic and self indulgent fudge packets that the very people that created the “WICH GREAK GOD R U LOLZ?” quiz are probably writing about in their own pointless online journal. Of course, thats actually what this is, a glorified journal for a little girl to write her thoughts in on which boyband is the cutest and what colour pony is the best.

Dear Diary….

PS: Mr Pokeh is an avid backstreet boys fan, his blog even says so.